a friend in strife is all you need
by QueenPersephoneofHades
Summary: Maybe Wally would have preferred it if he'd just ignored it, but this isn't something anyone should go through alone. Written for Day 10 of Tumblr's 2018 Whumptober.


The bruise, when he sees it, is _huge._

Dark stains against pale white skin, mottled yellow and purple marks from healing and fresh wounds. It easily spanned at least two ribs; the outline, though vague, could have been boot-shaped.

"Dude!" Dick hissed in sympathy, nearly dropping the shirt he'd been trying to pull over his head when he glanced over and saw it in all it's painful glory. "Yikes! Did something big go down in Central City?"

Nothing was on the news earlier to suggest that, but then again that doesn't mean much; in their line of work, the threats that go unrecorded by the media tend to be the bigger, more fate of the world type deals, which could cause a panic if they were brought to the attention of the common citizen. Still, it was a bit of a bigger deal if it hadn't even pinged a warning on the Batcomputer in case the League needed to be called in.

A small part of Dick's brain is calculating an update for the system's threat level assessment system while the rest of him is busy getting dressed faster to go find the first aid kit.

"Huh?" Wally says intelligently, before glancing down and seeming to notice the huge mark on his skin for the first time; it's probably gone a bit numb because of his accelerated healing, but that's still setting off a few of Dick's inner warning bells. "Oh, shit, yeah. This? Nah, it was nothing major; just a run in with Mirror Master. One of his traps tripped me up and I nearly got crushed by a stage-light," he says with a shrug and a careless wave of his hand, but Dick isn't stupid.

If that had actually happened, Wally would have been complaining about it loud enough to hear from here to Metropolis, would have collapsed onto the couch with a dramatic cry of pain and demanded someone get him some ice cream because he couldn't move.

But, Dick mused as he finished putting on his sunglasses, that might just be his Gotham-paranoid brain talking; it wouldn't do anyone any good to go jumping to conclusions like this.

Still, he shot his friend a concerned glance, which Wally unfortunately noticed; sometimes, his long-term exposure to Bats could be a bit detrimental.

Wally grinned widely, and Dick desperately tried not to overanalyze how strained it looked. "No need to be gloomy, dude! Let's go see if M'gann is done with those snickerdoodles, yeah?"

Well that's a forcibly changed subject if he's ever heard one.

But if Wally didn't want to talk about it, Dick could respect that. For now, at least.

He returned the grin, and tried to ignore the guilt in his gut.

* * *

The next bruise he noticed is hard to miss, staining Wally's lower jaw, and it shouldn't be a big deal. They're vigilantes; they get clocked in the face every other day.

But Wally is a speedster, with hyper-accelerated healing; any wounds he'd gotten yesterday should have been gone by now, unless he'd gotten them this morning, and nothing on the news suggested any supervillain activity in Central City so far today.

Dick doesn't even bother to hide his staring until Wally gives him a nervous glance out of the corner of his eye, and he realizes the others will notice too if he doesn't let up, and for a moment he's tempted to say something to them, to draw attention, to get someone else to notice and agree that something should be done-

But he can't do that to Wally in the middle of a good day, when he looks so _happy,_ so Dick says nothing.

Again.

The guilt eating at his insides doesn't go away, though.

* * *

After the second time there is a third, a fourth, but he finally draws the line upon catching sight of the fifth, inky dark and painfully painted from Wally's collarbone to his shoulder, because there is being patient and there is being _silent_ , and Dick absolutely refuses to remain so.

"You gotta talk to Barry, man." He doesn't mean to sound so blunt, but his temper has been simmering a bit too hot for a little too long, and what he really wants to do is scream and head to Central City with his escrima sticks, but that would be a _disaster_ with a capital _Dis,_ so this is the next best option.

Wally doesn't look surprised when he says it; no, he looks tired, and _resigned,_ which is so much worse, and the temptation to march toward the zetatubes is getting much harder to ignore.

"It's not like that, Dick," he mumbles, and Dick very nearly bites back _bullshit,_ but raising his voice and getting mad are probably the two things he very much should not do right now, so he reins it in a little.

"Well, then what _is_ it like?" he manages to keep most of the heat out of his voice, but his fingers are starting to shake and he's not sure he can stop them.

Wally grimaces at his tone, and he would feel bad about that if he didn't already feel like garbage for putting this off for so long.

He should have said something the first time, _dammit._ Maybe then Wally wouldn't look so miserable.

The speedster's face contorts into several unhappy expressions before lets out a frustrated groan. "It's mostly _me_ that starts it, okay?" he finally snaps, and Dick's hackles are starting to rise before he reminds himself to stop getting defensive. "I say something, and it pisses Dad off, or makes Mom upset, and they start saying stuff that's just _completely_ untrue about the Team, and Barry, and the hero business in general, and I argue back and it-" Wally's voice started shaking, and Dick was _not_ going to cry, that would _not_ help right now, "-it just starts escalating, and I don't mean half of what I say but you know my mouth moves faster than my brain sometimes and then they just-!"

"Wally," Dick interrupts flatly, leaning forward.

His very best friend flinches away from him when he starts to raise a hand, and Dick has to swallow hard to keep the bile down.

He can't touch his shoulder, where the bruise seems darkest; instead, Dick grabs Wally's hand between both of his and squeezes it tightly.

He tries for a smile. The anger and the guilt can be dealt with later; right now, Wally needed a friend, not an avenger.

"Whatever it is, I've got your back. I'll _help,_ any way I can. Please, _seriously,_ can we go talk to Barry about this? Or Bruce, or Clark, or Dinah?"

Wally looks like he's about to _cry,_ and Dick doesn't feel far behind on that.

It might take quite a while longer to convince him, but it's a _start,_ at least.

* * *

 **A/N: These boys gotta look out for each other ;w;  
~Persephone**


End file.
